


Montague (The ‘Acting Kinda Shady’ Remix)

by aralias



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: M/M, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-20
Updated: 2011-04-20
Packaged: 2017-10-18 10:46:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/188141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aralias/pseuds/aralias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The War Chief was looking for a new identity; the Doctor was looking for an old friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Montague (The ‘Acting Kinda Shady’ Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Everything is in a Name](https://archiveofourown.org/works/62359) by [Turtle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turtle/pseuds/Turtle). 



The Doctor had given him his name. It had been a gift and he had accepted it gracefully. Or, rather, he had bitten the Doctor at the place where his neck joined his shoulder, which was not exactly what they had been taught to do in etiquette classes, but the Doctor had seemed to appreciate it. He had given his gift again in reverent tones, and had moaned it later into a pillow, and later screamed it into the murky air of the cheap cantina bedroom. That was probably intended as a gift, as well. He hadn’t fucked him that hard.

He waited until the Doctor was scrabbling around on the floor, one boot on and laced, the other mysteriously vanished sending its owner on this somewhat frantic hunt, before naming him in return. “It’s good to see you crawling at my feet at last, Doctor.”

“You knew it was me, then,” the Doctor replied without looking up. “I wasn’t sure. Doctor I may be, by the way, but I’m not crawling and not at your feet. They’re just close. You’re not sitting on- Wait, don’t worry. Here it is. My boot. And a Altarrian dollar.” The Doctor stood, wiping the long mane of his fringe from his eyes with the hand holding the coin and then tossed it onto the bed. “You can keep that, if you like.”

“I’d know you anywhere.”

“Buy yourself something nice. Maybe get a haircut.”

“It’s true I was unaware at first. But once you’d deigned to make eye contact with me, there was no mistaking you.”

“So when you pushed me against the wall and shoved your tongue in my ear,” the Doctor said, balancing on one foot as he tugged on his boot, “what you’re saying is, I could have been anyone.”

It was true, in its way, but there had been something about the youth striding through the cantina, that had appealed to a man steeped in bitterness and drink. There had been something intriguing about him. Without knowing he was looking at the Doctor, the man watching him had thought, _He moves like he wants to be tied down._ Some irony there, he thought now.

“There was something familiar about you,” he said, rather than explain this. The Doctor leaned back against the wall, and crossed his tweedy arms across his chest underneath the absurd, but familiar bowtie. “Your clothes, if nothing else.”

“In other words, you followed me, because I looked like me.”

“Are you insulted?”

“No,” the Doctor said. “Try not to do it again, though. It won’t always be me. My sixth regeneration looked a lot like one of Maxil’s, remember him?”

Maxil was a blundering idiot, not worth wasting words on. “Which regeneration do I currently have the pleasure of addressing?”

The Doctor’s face contorted ruefully. “Eleven.”

“Then you’ve either been very careless, or you’re out of your time.”

“Both,” the Doctor said. “But I wanted to see you, or I was just passing through. Whichever you prefer. Anyway, I should go. The Time Lords are quite angry with me at the moment, aren’t they? And they’ll be even angrier if they realise I’m here with you, of all people.” The Doctor pushed himself away from the wall, and stooped to kiss his forehead.

“Well, bye, then, Master,” the Doctor said, which solidified the Master’s character to the extent that he was able to dismiss the Doctor with a curt nod, without even rising from the bed.

Soon after his own regeneration (caused by carelessness; the Doctor was always a bad influence) the Master visited the Doctor in his exile. He was far younger than he had been last time they’d met, though he looked much older: a typical Doctor-contradiction. The Master had seen him on Gallifrey’s major news channel, and so he knew the Doctor had been warned of his arrival. Runcible the Fatuous had made some rather unflattering remarks about both of them, but that irritating broadcast confirmed that the Doctor knew the name his future self had given his enemy. He simply refused to say it out loud in the man’s presence.

The Master was very fond of this regeneration, on the whole, but he found this particular trait upsetting. If he was occasionally a little careless with the Doctor’s life, it was only because he knew that one day the Doctor would be a young man with a long fringe and a maroon bowtie, who would shudder as he was pushed face first into a wall, and who would moan the Master’s name, as if he meant it.


End file.
